


I'd Love To

by Sass_Master



Series: Dream of Now [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sass_Master/pseuds/Sass_Master
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean slides off the couch and onto his knees at Cas’s feet, needs to just give into the urgency while it’s still fresh.</p><p>He’s been thinking about it for a while, that… <em>this</em> is something they haven’t done yet.</p><p>Dean watches the emotions flit across Cas’s face – uncertainty, <em>interest</em>, no doubt about that. Cas cups his cheek, thumb straying to Dean’s bottom lip, like he knows where this is going. Dean wonders if he’s pictured it before, if he’s <em>imagined</em> it the way Dean has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Love To

**Author's Note:**

> More or less a companion piece to [Turn You On](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5183012) (as the titles sort of imply). Also - a reminder that I am posting fics in this series somewhat out of order. Check the part number so there's no confusion!

The TV always sucks on Friday nights. Dean knows that better than anybody, but he’s the one who managed to snag the remote, so Sam and Cas just have to deal with it while he aggressively channel surfs, undeterred by the lack of options. He’s cycled through every listing three times now without finding anything worthwhile – except, okay, maybe a Dr. Sexy rerun caught his attention and he hovered there a little longer than on the other channels, but with an audience of his own, he won’t allow himself the indulgence.

Sam’s in the armchair, half-preoccupied with something on his laptop, but not so preoccupied that he doesn’t roll his eyes at Dean’s indecision. Dean pretends not to see it, when he pauses for the _fourth time_ on the most basic of basic cable channels, catching a lengthy glimpse of Dr. Sexy making out with the hot brunette in the supply closet. Dean idly wonders which one he’s more jealous of before he catches himself and pushes the thought down, quickly switching to the next channel.

Sam’s annoyed sigh is harder to ignore. “Dean, just leave it on if you want to watch. The jumping around is driving me crazy.”

Dean gears himself up to protest – to Sam’s whining, to his interest in the show, there are so many options – but Cas chimes in before he gets the chance. “I’d like to watch it,” he says, face and voice unreadable.

“Really?” Sam and Dean say in embarrassing unison, with matching expressions of doubt and surprise.

“Yes,” Cas replies, unmoved by their suspicion, directing his attention to Dean, seated beside him on the couch. “I want to know what’s so appealing to you about this program.”

Dean hopes he’s not blushing, not sure if Cas is messing with him. He’d thought it was fairly obvious that, for him, the appeal of watching Dr. Sexy, was, well, _Dr. Sexy._

Dean squares his jaw and turns back to the TV, away from Cas’s penetrating stare, and flips to channel 37 again. “What can I say?” he says with a shrug, laboriously nonchalant. “I love a good medical drama.”

Sam snorts in disbelief, but his eyes are already glued to the computer screen when Dean flips him off.

The episode ends almost immediately, but another one starts right on its heels, kicking off with an intensely dramatic (and surprisingly gory) cold open, shifting abruptly into the familiar musical sting and title card.

Dean had been under the impression that Cas was only being nice when he said he wanted to watch, but he sits attentively in relative silence, appearing to have genuine interest. Dean’s not entirely surprised – he knows all too well what it’s like to get swept up in that ever-irresistible trashy melodrama.

Sam’s apparently immune to the charms of a guilty pleasure, and at the third commercial break he shuts his laptop with another sigh. “Well, I’m gonna call it a night,” he says, already shifting to his feet.

“Show’s not even half-over,” Dean says, mildly scandalized. “You’re not gonna see how it ends.”

“Let me guess,” Sam drawls, sounding thoroughly unimpressed and looking even _more_ condescending now that he’s standing, towering over Dean. “They’ll misdiagnose the patient a couple more times, she’ll crash, shit looks _really_ bad, Dr. Sexy will miraculously find the cure at the eleventh hour _and_ manage to get back into Nurse Vicky’s good graces since she found out he slept with the new receptionist.” He pauses and grins, smug. “C’mon, how close am I?”

There’s a long pause where Dean just glares at him, which is answer enough. “God, just go to bed, Captain Buzzkill.” Okay, so it’s not his most inspired nickname.

Sam only smirks and shakes his head as he saunters out of the room. “Cas, if you do find out what Dean gets out of this show, let me know.”

Cas finally looks up when he hears his name – by now he’s learned to tune out Sam and Dean’s bickering – but Sam’s already gone.

And now that they’re alone, Cas’s focus on the show disintegrates almost instantly. At first, Dean had only chalked it up to idle, almost unconscious behavior – the way Cas casts him sidelong glances that get more frequent, get _longer_ , how he’s considerably closer to Dean than he was when Sam was in the room, arm stretched out behind Dean’s head, radiating warmth.

But when Cas’s fingers brush against Dean’s hair for the umpteenth time, grazing the sensitive skin at the back of his neck, the _intent_ behind his touches is unmistakable. Hell, it’s not like Dean can concentrate either, Cas’s gentle caresses leaving him shifting restlessly on the lumpy sofa, his mind wandering, just as Cas’s obviously has.

Cas fixes him with the most intense stare he’s attempted so far tonight, and Dean eyes him in his periphery, clearing his throat. “You’re not really watching this anymore, are you,” he says flatly, seeing no point in trying to make it an actual question.

Cas’s eyes dart up and away. “Well, Sam did spoil the ending,” he says, and Dean doesn’t miss the slightest note of feigned innocence in his tone.

There’s a lot Dean could say to that – defending his show’s honor, explaining how _totally_ _wrong_ Sam is springs to mind – but instead he mumbles, “If you wanted to make out, you could’ve just said so.”

That’s supposed to be a joke, an attempt at being flippant and facetious, but there are roots of hopefulness there. It’s new, this… _thing_ with him and Cas, and he still gets those nerves, those butterflies when Cas looks at him a certain way – still experiences the thrill and anxiety, not knowing what will happen between them and when, who’s going to make a move first.

“I want to make out,” Cas replies bluntly, deadpan as ever.

Dean splutters a bit at that and Cas’s stoic façade slips away, shifting into a sly smile, the _little shit_. Dean has no choice but to lean in and wipe the smirk off his face.

Sure, Dean knows the _newness_ of being able to kiss Cas has a lot to do with the way his heart pounds, the undercurrent of exhilaration, but he can’t imagine ever getting tired of this. He luxuriates in Cas’s lips soft and insistent against his own, the feel of Cas’s muscles sturdy beneath his fingers, stubble scraping Dean’s chin. One of Cas’s hands sneaks up the back of Dean’s shirt, the other cradling his jaw and tilting Dean’s face until their mouths fit together at a better angle. Dean opens up for him, they open up for _each other_ , tongues fleetingly sliding together.

Dean doesn’t waste any time in trailing a hand down Cas’s body, cupping him firmly through his jeans, thrilled by the _heat_ of him, the way he swells at Dean’s touch. Dean answers Cas’s growl with one of his own, smothering a gasp when Cas redoubles his efforts, filthily thrusting his tongue against Dean’s, palm resting heavily on Dean’s thigh but not _quite_ reaching where Dean wants Cas’s hand the most.

Cas always gives him everything he’s got, crowds in closer, _closer_ until Dean’s shoved up against a wall (or, as the situation may dictate, pinned down on the couch cushions) and Dean doesn’t mind _that_ one bit, pulls Cas in just as much as Cas pushes, eager for Cas’s firm body pressed against his own.

Dean resists it today, as much as he’d love Cas heavy and warm and – fuck – _hard_ on top of him right now. He breaks the kiss gently, still near enough that they’re breathing each other’s air as his thumb worries at Cas’s scruffy jaw.

It occurs to him that he should suggest they lock themselves in a bedroom, find somewhere more private before they continue. Truthfully, he’d only stopped because he has something in mind, and he slides off the couch and onto his knees at Cas’s feet, needs to just give into the urgency while it’s still fresh, before his sudden bravery slips away and he changes his mind.

Dean’s almost embarrassed by his own boldness, but he’s been thinking about it for a while, that… _this_ is something they haven’t done yet.

Every step they take together always feels _huge_ , especially to Dean – at least, he can’t imagine that all these minor ‘first times’ even register as momentous to someone as unfathomably old as Cas. They’ve hardly scratched the surface of what they can do together, and Dean wants to do so _much_ with Cas, things he might not be ready to talk about.

And, well, he’s not really talking about this either, just taking initiative, taking _action_ , letting the gesture speak more clearly than he’d be able to manage with words.

Dean watches the emotions flit across Cas’s face – uncertainty, _interest,_ no doubt about that, arousal definitely not thrown off course by Dean’s unexpected change in position. Dean rests his hands on Cas’s thighs, squeezes just to feel the firm muscle beneath his fingers. He licks his lips, a thrill shooting through him at the way Cas’s gaze is helplessly drawn to the movement. The obvious lust in Cas’s eyes spurs him on, the thick shape of him in his jeans tempting and _obscene_ from this angle.

Cas cups his cheek, thumb straying to Dean’s bottom lip, like he knows where this is going and is already anticipating sliding into Dean’s mouth. Dean wonders if he’s pictured it before, if he’s _imagined_ it the way Dean has.

He’s encouraged by the idea, reaches for Cas’s belt and undoes it quickly, taken in by anticipation himself. Arousal courses through him, seeing Cas’s hips stutter into it when Dean reaches for his zipper and slowly draws it down, fingers brushing Cas’s erection through the denim. Cas helps him inch his pants and boxers down, just enough for Cas to be bared to his hungry gaze. He readily ventures into familiar territory, wrapping his fingers around Cas’s length and giving it a few steady pumps, admiring the way it pulses and hardens further in his hand.

Dean’s definitely better acquainted with Cas’s cock than he was a few weeks ago, but he’s never been quite so _up close and personal_ and oh god he wants Cas in his mouth so bad he thinks he might pass out.

Dean glances at Cas, almost afraid he’ll be engrossed in the TV show again, but of course Cas is watching him with attention so rapt that he’d pretend to find it creepy in different circumstances. Dean squirms under his scrutiny, sudden insecurity flooding in. He’s _done_ this before, sure, but only a couple of times. It’s not like he’s an expert, or anything, doesn’t have any earned confidence or practiced _moves_ up his sleeve. There was a long period of time where he didn’t want to cop to _any_ experience or skill at sucking dick but hey, if he’s going to do it – and he definitely is, craves it so bad his mouth is fucking watering – then he at least wants to be _good_ at it. This is another novel experience for Cas, and Dean damn sure wants it to be an enjoyable one.

Cas is often preoccupied with Dean in their stolen moments together, genuinely loves putting him first and making him the center of attention. Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment, but he soaks it up all the same, is already getting spoiled by Cas’s affections. Dean wants Cas to have some of the same treatment, wants to give this to him, lavish him with affection and focus solely on his pleasure, because, well, it just seems _fair_.

Dean’s tongue traces a wandering path along Cas’s cock, eliciting a gasp and a breathy sigh. He wants to take his time with it, even though they are a bit _exposed_ here – Sam could come waltzing back in at any moment. Dean has no guarantee that Sam’s out like a light by now, but he’s certain enough to be willing to risk it.

Dean changes tack, mouths at the head of Cas’s dick and a groan reverberates in Cas’s chest, so deep Dean swears he can feel it as he eagerly laps up a bead of fluid from the tip.

He has no intention of teasing Cas, doesn’t want to wait any longer himself. He shifts on his knees until he’s as comfortable as he’s going to get like this, finally able to lean all the way in, slide Cas’s cock into his mouth inch by inch until he can’t take anymore.

The intent was for this to be about Cas, but Dean is undeniably getting something out of it, god _damn_. He savors the heat and weight on his tongue, the weirdly comforting sense of _fullness_. He can’t hold back a moan, one that Cas echoes, his head tipping onto the back of the couch, eyes snapping shut for a moment.

Dean’s forgotten how much he _likes_ this, not just the burn of arousal but the almost bizarre sense of satisfaction, of _pride_ in giving someone pleasure like this. And with Cas, a lot of the underlying shame falls away, doesn’t sour the heat in his stomach. It doesn’t feel… debasing, with Cas, to fall to his knees so readily – not with the way Cas looks at him, rakes his fingers through Dean’s hair, growling and tightening his grip when Dean pulls back, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing his head nice and slow.

 _Fuck_ , that sharp sting in his scalp always gets him going, drags a whimper from his throat, gets him impossibly hard. Yeah, Cas is _into this_ , losing himself in it, and it makes Dean feel incredible to see how turned on he is, but Dean might be giving him a run for his money.

Cas relaxes his grip and slides his hand to Dean’s face, presses it to his cheek, brushing his thumb against the corner of Dean’s mouth, stretched and slick, then around to the back of his neck, cradling the base of his skull and gently encouraging his movements.

It spurs Dean on, feeling Cas’s strong hands, hearing his noises of pleasure, and he works up a languid, steady rhythm, can’t decide if he would rather watch Cas’s blissed-out face, meet his intense gaze, or close his eyes in swiftly building arousal.

Dean drops a hand between his own legs, touching himself teasingly through his jeans. He’s trying to focus on Cas but he needs _something_ , just the tiniest bit of relief, about to bust through his fucking zipper at this point.

He pulls off and sits back to stroke Cas’s slick cock, enraptured by the way it leaks onto his fingers, the deep flushed color of it. Dean can see how Cas is strung tight, straining not to buck up into his fist, urgently whispering Dean’s name, and yeah, Dean has no intention of denying him, of denying _himself_.

He licks his lips and leans in again, hums in satisfaction when Cas slides home. Dean can tell that Cas won’t last much longer, meeting Dean’s mouth halfway with minute, rolling thrusts, and the sinuous movement, Cas’s thighs flexing beneath his fingers gives Dean _ideas_ , gets him thinking about other things they have yet to do.

And shit, now he’s thinking about what it might be like to have Cas do all the work too, just opening his mouth and letting Cas push his cock in until Dean’s practically gagging. Just the mental image is enough to make him shudder, but, maybe some other time.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas says tightly, tugging at Dean’s hair again, and he hears that for the warning it is, knows Cas is right on the edge.

Dean’s overeager and _sloppy_ now that he knows Cas is close. His jaw’s already aching but he opens it wider, nearly drooling at this point, saliva coating his lips and chin as he tries to relax, feels the head of Cas’s dick nudging at his soft palate. He barely stops himself from pushing further, letting himself _choke_ on it, and he takes his hand off his own cock so he can brace himself over Cas’s lap for better leverage, wrap his fingers around what he can’t really fit in his mouth.

Cas tightens his fingers in Dean’s hair again, lets out a deep moan that has Dean’s cock twitching, his hips twisting helplessly, desperately seeking friction. God, he wants Cas to come for him, he’s fucking _earned it_ by now.

Dean has plenty of time to draw back, but he keeps going, lets Cas come in his mouth because he’s never done that with anyone before. Any aspects of it that might make him shy away are outweighed by how much it turns him on – the feel, the _taste_ of Cas spilling onto his tongue in copious spurts. In many ways it’s not the most pleasant experience, but he’s taken aback at how _hot_ he finds it, how it makes him shiver with a filthy sort of fulfillment.

He swallows what he can – again, just to try it – and fuck, he likes that more than he expected to, _way_ more. He lets the rest pool in his mouth, drip down his bottom lip, only to reflexively swipe at it with his tongue before he realizes what he’s doing, embarrassed.

Cas is breathing heavily, staring down at Dean with one hand reverently resting against his cheek. He firmly grips the back of Dean’s neck again, urging Dean to stand on shaky legs, to collapse forward and straddle Cas’s lap.

Cas helps him settle, hands resting on Dean’s hips, guiding them flush against each other, a lazy smile appearing on his face. “I enjoyed that,” Cas hums, kissing him indulgently, helping to lick away the lingering stickiness coating Dean’s chin. His touch wanders, broad hands skimming up Dean’s thighs. “You did too,” he remarks, thumbs grazing where Dean strains against his fly.

Dean can’t fully bite back a curse as Cas touches him in earnest, can’t resist arching into it, already _so much_ even through his layers of clothing.

“Should I…?” Cas asks vaguely, and Dean’s sure he’s interpreting the question correctly, if he wants Cas to suck him off too. He’s tempted, of course he is, but there will be other chances, and it’s nice, actually, that he knows that with certainty, is looking forward to that, for sure – despite Cas’s inexperience, Dean can’t even imagine how good Cas will make that for him, very familiar with how thoroughly Cas puts his mind to the task of getting Dean off.

Dean’s too worked up for more untried territory, just wants to _come_ , is fucking out of his mind with the need for it. He wants Cas’s hands on him, not used to _waiting_ with Cas. He can’t be bothered to move, clinging to Cas tenaciously, loving how solid his body feels. “Just this,” he gasps, clutching Cas’s sturdy shoulders as Cas strokes him through his pants, undoes the button and deftly drags the zipper down.

Cas has already learned his body so well, knows how to drive him to the precipice efficiently, _effectively_ , a feat he accomplishes all the more easily now, given how far gone Dean is. He’s about to burst the second Cas’s long, dexterous fingers close around him and take up smooth, relentless strokes, pressure perfect and _unbearable_.

Cas softly kisses his neck, his stubble ticklish against Dean’s delicate skin as he sneaks a hand up his shirt and pinches a nipple, and Dean has no chance. Cas is watching him fervently as he begins to tip over the edge, and it’s more than Dean can handle, in every sense, to look into Cas’s eyes while they glow with such intensity. He whines and pitches forward, stifling his loud moan against Cas’s shoulder and burying his face there, pulsing into Cas’s hand, staining the front of his shirt. If Cas has any complaints about the mess, he doesn’t show it, simply gathers Dean close and sighs his name, the hand under Dean’s shirt sneaking around to soothingly caress his back.

Dean takes a few shaky breaths, heart rate settling back to normal. He’s suddenly aware of the television blaring behind them, of where they _are_ right now. “Shit,” he mutters against Cas’s neck, a slightly hysterical laugh working its way in. “Glad Sam didn’t decide to come back.”

“That would have been… awkward,” Cas agrees, and Dean laughs again, much more fond this time. “Oh,” Cas says after a beat, “We missed the ending.”

Dean can see credits rolling through the corner of his eye. “You didn’t miss much,” he sighs, defeated. “Sam was right.”

Cas chuckles at that information, and Dean feels the rumble beneath him, wants to burrow into Cas’s warmth, wants to fall asleep just like this, cradled in Cas’s arms, or at least invite Cas back to his bedroom for the night, but he’s scared to ask. They’ve risked enough tonight, doing this here, with Sam around. Sleeping together, in the literal sense, is just not something they _do_ when they don’t have the place to themselves.

They share a lingering goodnight kiss and reluctantly go their separate ways. Dean tries not to pout.

He wakes up early, alone, not particularly refreshed. Thinking about how big and empty his bed feels only makes him grouchy and restless, so he decides he might as well drag his ass into the kitchen to start the coffee.

When he staggers up to the coffee maker, he finds a note from Sam on the carafe. _Out for a few hours. I’ll come back with some lunch._

Dean checks the clock and immediately abandons the coffee, hastily navigating the hallway and letting himself into Cas’s room.

He lifts the covers and crawls right into Cas’s bed with him, snuggles up close. The part of him that’s still tentative about these things is overwhelmed by the desire to take advantage of the situation and just, well, he really wants Cas’s arms around him right now, so sue him.

“Dean?” Cas asks, stirring sleepily but leaning into Dean’s embrace all the same.

“Got a note from Sam,” Dean explains, already resting his head against Cas’s chest and closing his eyes. “Won’t be back til lunchtime.”

“Oh,” Cas says, sounding confused and pleased and tired all at once. Dean’s heart flutters embarrassingly just from that one syllable.

He forces himself to roll over for a moment to set an alarm on Cas’s phone, wants to make sure they’re up before Sam comes back. And, well, if they had a little extra time for things _other_ than sleeping, that wouldn’t be a tragedy. He settles back in quickly, Cas’s arms encircling him tight.

Cas pulls him close, tucks Dean’s head under his chin. “This is nice,” he mumbles, already sounding like he’s drifting off again.

Dean conks out before he can reply, before he can agree with utmost enthusiasm. Dean may not have a whole lot of experience with _nice_ , but he suspects that falling asleep next to Cas most definitely qualifies.

He might have to try it a few more times, just to be sure.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://sass-master-stina.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bisexualpudding). I'm far more active on Twitter though (too much, probably.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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